Leaving a note
by MCRmy-saved-me
Summary: It's been 3 years. John can't wait around for ever so he leave's Sherlock a note and attempts suicide. Is Sherlock too late? Possible Major Character Death or Johnlock. There's a poll up on my profile to determine what will happen next, so go and vote! I will post the day after the first 5 votes.
1. Chapter 1

Guys I'm writing a Johnlock fanfic, (NOT ONESHOT!) I'm continuing crowleys-best-hellhound's fic.

I don't own Sherlock or thesuicide note. They belong to Doyle, Moffat and Gatiss and crowleys-best-hellhound (respectively). Enjoy!

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Sherlock Holmes. The man who flipped my life upside down; ever since I met him my life has been enjoyable. This man was more than anything I could ever desire, though he usually came across as a heartless robot, I've managed to pull apart that emotionless wall and see the man from within. Today marked 3 years since the fall, I refused to believe Sherlock had died until now. It's been too long, I don't wasn't to live in a world without Sherlock Holmes- I can't. I toyed with the pill, pure poison, it was all I needed. My hand began to shook as I wrote, tears streaked down my face onto the paper, smudging the ink.

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Sherlock,

I don't know where to start. I don't believe for a second that you're dead. I know you, you wouldn't leave me alone like this. You wouldn't leave me alone again. I need you. When you see me now, I know what you see- a lonely, pathetic, desperate old man who can't piece his life back together after his best friend left him. I don't want to be that man anymore. What's the point of picking up the pieces? What if I don't even want to?

I remember when we first met at St Barts. Your tall, slender frame, black curly hair and sharp cheekbones. I saw you, looking me up and down, I didn't know it then but you were deducing me. What did you see? A strong, intelligent man- an army doctor? Or a broken, shattered boy who has horrific nightmares? Whatever you saw, you wanted me as a roommate.

Ah, our flat. It's where all my fondest memories are. But I couldn't stay there. Without you. It was hard getting around the flat with my limp back. You had fixed me.

But now you've broken me again.

You saved me in so many ways, the nightmares stopped, my limp went, you saved my life a lot of times as well. Thank you Sherlock, thank you so much. There were times I doubted you would come to save me. But you always did. But not this time.

I know our relationship wasn't always perfect, we argued. A lot. We would say things we regretted and sometimes you really disappointed me. Like when you said caring wasn't an advantage, it upset me to think you didn't care about me. Because I cared about you, more than you ever knew.

I'm sorry that it had to end this way.

I can't carry on without you and you aren't coming back.

I am so alone and I love you so much.

I love you Sherlock.

This is my note, that's what people do isn't it? Leave a note.

Goodbye.

John. H. Watson

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The note was for my own sake, in case Sherlock returned. I looked at the skull, "We both know that isn't going to happen" I chuckled, nodding my head to it- as if I'm saying my farewell to it. I lifted the pill to my mouth and took a deep breath.

"Goodbye Sherlock."

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I'm so evil! PLEASE follow, review and favorite Oh and help me decide what's going to happen, either Sherlock's going to turn up, or he will be too late- let me know! I'll update as soon as I get 5 reviews… Also I'm looking for a Beta... Thanks xx Anjie


	2. Chapter 2

Hello, thank you guys so much for the reviews, favourites and follows. I really do appreciate it. I got a co-writer: the marvelous I'm Nova. So keep the feedback coming and here's another chapter for you! I'm going to take the story slow because I want it to be relatively long.  
I do not own Sherlock: Gatiss and Moffat do!

Sherlock Pov.

There on the screen was John Watson. My John Watson, my flat mate, my doctor, my assistant and most importantly my friend. I have anticipated going home for 2 years, 9 months and 5 days. Ever since I jumped off the roof all I wanted was to go back, back to John. I hated it; I've never felt an emotional attachment to anyone in my whole life, and now I feel weak without John, as if I'm missing a part of me.  
After the 'fall' –I refer to the event as such – I spent my time hunting down Moriarty's web with the help of Irene Adler and Mycroft. Now Sebastian Moran is the only obstacle stopping me from going home to 221B. I have only seen Moran once; he was on a roof near Piccadilly when I shot Raphael Shettington. Then, I chased him to the Thames but soon my injuries overcame me; I forcibly limped to a stop.  
On the screen, John pulled out a bottle of pills, shaking hands, tears streaming down his face, and resentful gaze sweeping around the room. I instantly realised what was happening. Suicide. Why John? A few more days? Why _now_? He opened the bottle and took a pill. And started toying with another one.  
I pulled my cell out and called Mycroft.  
_'This is Mycroft Homes, I'm sorry I can't take your call right-'  
'Come on Croftie' _I urged, trying to will him to pick up the phone. Uselessly. 

_BEEP! _The answering machine answered, mocking.   
Ugh...Lestrade must be with my brother again. I turned my attention back to the screen. He was in my chair, writing. Probably a suicide note – so predictable. _Shut up!_ I yelled at the consulting detective in me. I need to feel normal, human for a second. I grabbed my coat and scarf and raced through the London rooftops.

Only 2 streets away.

1 street.

3 houses.

Here.

221B Baker Street.

I sneaked in through the window of 221C.  
Still empty, luckily. Wait – all my equipment and experiments are down here. The subtle smell of tea and the splodge marks on the cardboard boxes suggest John has been here recently, crying.

_JOHN!_

I opened the basement's door and raced up the stairs. It felt like they're more than they used to be, but that's impossible. When I heard "Goodbye, Sherlock" I skipped the last few steps in my haste to get to the damn flat's door and throw it open. John is facing the mantelpiece, glaring at himself in the mirror. Swallowing the last pill.

_No!_ It's too late. I'm too late. Too _late._ "John." His name escaped my lips in an hushed whisper as he stared at ME through the mirror, turning around to face me. He looked positively delighted, but not as stunned as my supposed resurrection should entail. I hoped it meant he had picked up the hints on my own 'note'. "Sherlock...love you," he murmured. His breath already unsteady. He started swaying and stumbled. I snapped out of my frozen state and grabbed him, pulling him close to me.

"What, John?" I barked to him. I could check the bottle, but having to answer me would keep John from slipping away. This wasn't concussion, but I needed John to not give up on me...on life...now.  
John pried one eye open and gasped out in a raspy voice, "Atropine".  
It took a split second for my brain to clear out all the emotions and think.

Atropine:

Tropane alkaloid drug.

Chemical formula: C17H23NO3.

Most frequent source: the plants of the Solanaceae family. It can be synthesized in laboratory, and it is even naturally developed inside the human body.

The name comes from the plant Atropa belladonna.

It acts on the muscarinic acethylcoline receptors of the parasympathetic nervous system, stopping all glands and muscles controlled by it from going into 'rest and digest' activity.

Readily available to doctors since it is used for resuscitation. Atropine increases firing of the sinoatrial node (SA) and conduction through the atrioventricular node(AV) of the heart, basically jump-starting the organ.

Excessively stimulating the heart needlessly, of course, brings death.

Lethal dose 453 mg.

"Hot as a hare, blind as a bat, dry as a bone, red as a beet, and mad as a hatter" flitted through my racing mind.

Wait. _What?! _I rushed through my mind palace trying to make sense of this riddle. I usually enjoyed riddles, especially timed ones. But not now; not today; not when it's John's life at stake.

Hot as a hare…

Blind as a bat…

Dry as a bone…

Red as a beet…

Mad as a hatter…

_No!_ Still nothing.

Hare, bat, bone, beet, hatter?

_HBBBH? H__2__B__3__? Hydrogen Borane? Pentaborane? Hexaborane? NO! _The formula is wrong for all those. Unbalanced.

Hot, Blind, Dry, Red, Mad.

_Yes! That's it! _The _symptom._

_Hot. _I felt John's forehead. He was burning up.

_Blind. _John's pupils were unfocused.

_Dry_. Even though his body temperature was rocketing, he wasn't sweating. Damn.

_Red. _His whole face and neck was flushed. Not good

_Mad. _ At least he's not experiencing hallucinations.

John's showing most of the symptoms.

This means he is probably in stage 4 out of the 7 stages of poisoning.

Quick, Sherlock. _Think_. So there could be any amount of time from 5 minutes to 20 minutes. An ambulance won't arrive in 5 minutes, but still I'd rather call them now. Think Sherlock _THINK_! I grabbed the bottle, easing John on the ground. I'm reading the label, but my mind just won't process the information. I can't comprehend the writing. I let out a frustrated puff of breath and glared at John.

"Don't you dare leave me…"


End file.
